


1975 Again

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Friendship, Humor, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5922532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember the good old times - Excessive references to 70s rock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1975 Again

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

When Harry came to spend the summer with them, some of Lily's and James's old possessions came out of storage. They might as well have materialized out of thin air for all Remus remembered of locking them away. He could recall his hands shaking, holding a framed picture, couldn't recall exactly of what (Peter smiling, James and Sirius with identical grins, and Lily with those wise eyes looking straight into the camera, into him; the three boys laughing and fidgeting. He had wanted to try a Muggle posed shot). Dumbledore's cool grip on his arm. He could have been inside the house, could have been in the grass in the front lawn, could have been in an interrogation cell. Anywhere. One of the few disjointed memories he had of that time.

But that was his signature on the lease for the vault, his signature sloppy, dramatic, not at all shaking, and how did he get the right to dispose of those things anyway? Of course, wizarding law wouldn't have acknowledged Lily's Muggle relatives, Harry was too young, and of all the friends... even though he was a werewolf, he had been the only one left. It should have been Sirius, looking after those things.

But there was the letter, real and to the point, stating that the vault was open with Harry turned sixteen, though still under Remus's control for two more years, to deliver what objects he would to Harry, at his own discretion. He had scanned the inventory with a blank heart, not reading anything. Certain words jumped out at him and he quickly moved on. He dropped the list in Harry's lap, glad that Sirius was gone for a couple of days, glad that he wouldn't have to put up with Sirius's enthusiasm over the past. Sirius so glad to be able to remember, while Remus still felt the ache and wanted to forget, forget, forget...

"What's this?" Harry asked, all James intensity and Lily quietude.

Remus had smiled at him, unable to answer, needing a breath before he could get the words out: "Your parents' things."

And Harry had blinked, just Harry again, and looked back at the parchment in his hand. And Remus looked at the bent head, glad when Lily and James faded further into the past and it was just Harry, Harry with another piece of his own identity fallen into his hands.

"We can go tomorrow, if you like," Remus said unnecessarily. The boy was too wrapped up in the goldmine before his eyes to pay much attention.

But, "Tomorrow?" after a moment, not looking up. The unspoken question: Why not today?

"Yes, it's a bit too late to catch them still open, and I imagine there will be a fair amount of paperwork involved."

Harry nodded, then his breath caught.

"What is it?"

"They... They had a pensieve."

Did they? Remus thought, and thought... then couldn't help the huff of a chuckle as he recalled.

"What is it?" Green eyes blinking, curious, wary.

"If that's what I think it is... Well, I believe it's from your parents' honeymoon."

"So...? Oh. ...Oh, yuck..." Harry made a face, but after a second it fell back into distance and silent contemplation.

Remus stopped scrutinizing the boy. He got up and offered tea on his way to the kitchen. Without waiting for an answer, if there even was one, he set about preparing two cups.

+~+~+~+~+

The next morning, they floo'd to London and Remus signed all the contents of the vault over to Harry without a second thought. Harry mentally thanked his ex-professor for, unlike other adults, not having the urge to shield him from his own life.

And in the meantime there was the question of what to do with all of it. Remus's house was small and comfortably, if shabbily, furnished. Very little clutter, if one didn't count Remus's books. Harry couldn't really envision a pile of Potter artifacts blocking the front door. As appealing as that thought seemed to him... And then there was the urge to just spend a few days getting lost in the vault itself. It reminded him of the time he had accidentally floo'd into the curiosity shop, but this time it wasn't that the objects were strange so much that their functions were unclear to him. Why did his parents have that old globe? What did it mean to them?

Perhaps it wasn't fear of cluttering up Remus's house so much as the potential flood of information that was overwhelming him. He had never known his parents. They had never been this real to him. He settled on a few medium-sized boxes, for the first go- round, at least. And the pensieve. Remus helped him shrink the booty then led him out, constantly looking over his shoulders as though expecting ghosts.

+~+~+~+~+

Sirius found them jamming to the Clash while Remus prepared lunch, the music so loud he had so shout to be heard.

"What the hell is this?!" Not angry, just confused. And slightly hurt that they would have been having this much fun while he had been out on... well, bloody, grimy, rat-hunting business, but he didn't want to think about that in the sun-warm house with his lover looking at him and his godson immersed in... good God, was that vinyl?

Harry looked up from the Beggar's Banquet slipcover and then reached over to turn down the volume on the stereo. ...When had Remus gotten a stereo?

Remus looked at him some more, in the way that Sirius knew meant he was picking his words. "Lily and James's things were in a vault. Harry has access to it now that he's sixteen."

Sirius gaped at him a moment, then turned to Harry, who was waiting for his reaction. He noted the turntable behind Harry, the speakers that were hissing and whining with... Jamie's music. Jamie's LPs in Harry's hands. A sudden flashback to "Listen to this, Siri," the only warning he got before Mick Jagger started rasping and keening to him on deafening waves of sound.

Sirius realized he was still gaping. "I... Wow. What else is in there?" And he wanted to transform and bury himself in that box of The Who and Pink Floyd and... Queen! How had he managed to survive the past decade and a half without Queen in his life?

He fell onto the floor on his knees next to Harry, practically drooling. His godson grinned at him.

Sirius slowly lifted A Night at the Opera from the pile. The Clash leaned toward Remus's end of the musical spectrum. It was fine for jumping around, certainly good for a rough shag against a wall, but he would show Harry what real music sounded like.

A quick glance at his lover as he got to his feet, intending to smirk as he turned off Remus's beloved punk. But the werewolf wasn't looking at them--watching, but not looking, his mouth quirked in that odd little halfhearted smile, his gaze blank. Sirius stood still for a moment, torn by the urges to stay in the present with Harry or go chase after Remus wherever memory was leading him... luring him to drown, most likely.

"You'll remember this one, Remy," his voice low and gravely, his words inconsequential--anything to draw Remus's attention back to him, back to now. "I remember I played it incessantly for weeks."

Remus focused on him, his expression still as though he hadn't quite decided whether to be indulgent or not, involved or not. "Well," he finally said, his tone clipped. "I suppose we'd better see if it's stood the test ot time."

The words hurt, for some reason. Chided. Sirius didn't want to contemplate why. He was remembering, every day, the little things... Remus could be such a woman sometimes. Or maybe he was being the irrational housewife, reading too much into things. Sirius couldn't help the little smile that warped his mouth. Meaningless questions like that, anything resembling a domestic dispute, he had never imagined they'd be able to have again.

The needle came down.

And it was too much. "I'm in Love With My Car" - the rapturous day he got his cycle up in the air. "You're My Best Friend" and James's eyes, James's shy, certain smile when he said he was going to propose to Lily. That song had been playing. James had been thinking of her.

"'39" took the smile from Harry's face (`your mother's eyes from your eyes cry to me') and Sirius tried to imagine what it must be like, hearing these things, seeing these things and trying to understand it all, without any memory to build upon. It was too easy to pretend that Harry wasn't an orphan. Lily and James were so apparent in Harry, in him, in Remus, in anything that could call up a memory. It was too easy to forget that Harry didn't have any of that at all.

"You call me up and treat me like a dog. You call me up and tear me up inside." Loud. Repetitive. Remus's kind of music. Remus losing any semblance of joy in his eyes.

"Death all around around around around" and the rest of the album was ridiculous. The whole album was ridiculous.

Harry's "Oh, I've heard this song" as the familiar strains of "Bohemian Rhapsody" started up. Relieved grin, trying to lighten the mood. Sirius smiled but couldn't call up the conviction to sing along.

He would have to... talk to Harry, tell him all of this. It wasn't right that Harry didn't know... What? His father's terrible singing voice, either shitfaced or wooing Lily or both? But it seemed equally wrong to make the attempt. As if James could be summed up in a couple of simple anecdotes. Sirius could practically feel his old friend frowning down at him. What?! What, James? What do you want me to do?

James wasn't here. Lily wasn't here. No amount of reminiscing would replace them. The album ended. Harry replaced it with Wish You Were Here. They all moved into the kitchen to assemble their neglected sandwiches, the haunting ("pretentious," Remus used to call it) music following them.

Sirius didn't say a thing.


End file.
